Between the Dream and Reality Lies the Nightmare
by lawless523
Summary: Eiri examines his relationship with Shuichi from the time Shuichi moves in with him until he decides to get out of Shuichi's life for his own good to marry Ayaka and move back to Kyoto. One-shot.


_**Between the Dream and Reality Lies the Nightmare**_

**_Ratings/Warnings: _**M for adult concepts and sexual references. No worse than the manga though. This story features male lovers. If that bothers you, why are you reading Gravitation fanfiction?

**_Disclaimer: _**It's Maki Murakami's sandbox; I just play in it. I don't own the rights to these characters and I don't make any money from them, more's the pity.

Set during Track 15, Volume 4, when Eiri moves out to return to Kyoto and marry Ayaka, leaving his house in Tokyo empty and his belongings in storage.

Written for LiveJournal's 30_kisses challenge community.

Prompt: #6, the space between dream and reality

What ever possessed me to let that guy move in? He offered all sorts of inducements to get me to let him stay, but I knew better from the start. So why did I give in? Why didn't I send him packing?

He offered to cook, clean, and do the laundry to earn his keep. He also offered more personal services: cleaning my ears, massaging my shoulders, and playing master and servant when the lights went out. This was in addition to our unspoken agreement from the beginning of our no-strings-attached relationship to have sex as often as I wanted it.

I soon found out that he was useless in the kitchen, though there was nothing wrong with his appetite. Worse than useless, really – more like a menace. He would either practically burn down the kitchen or injure himself. I bandaged so many cuts, burns, and other injuries that I began to suspect he was careless on purpose, either to gain my attention or because he didn't get enough attention of that sort from his mother when he was younger.

He had a tendency to toss laundry together any old which way without regard to fabric or color and add whatever amount and type of detergent and brightener he felt like using. Reading the instructions on the containers was apparently beneath him. Or beyond him. He shrank a silk shirt of mine that shouldn't have been washed and turned a white shirt blue.

I let him continue to do whatever laundry he couldn't ruin and whisked the rest away. I washed them myself or took them to the laundromat or the dry cleaners. Stupid, when I have a perfectly good washer, but it was a useful compromise to make him feel like he was living up to his end of the bargain and for me not to have to do it all myself.

I had my qualms when it came to cleaning ears and giving shoulder massages. Those are pretty intimate things to let someone else do, in my opinion. More intimate than sex, really; more trust is involved, especially since I don't relish getting poked with a Q-Tip and he had learned that I have sensitive ears.

It turned out that he wasn't half bad at shoulder massages as long as he didn't get carried away and try to knead too hard. And with all the typing, sitting, and slouching I do, shoulder massages were often welcome relief. Sometimes they led to even more welcome activities.

I frequently wished that he had offered to play servant all the time and not just when the lights went out. Not because of the sex - we had lots, and it was just fine, other than his propensity for coming sooner than I'd like - but because then I would order him not to do some of the idiotic, annoying things he did, like attack me with hugs, make way too much noise, and laugh and play the stereo and TV too loudly. My headaches, which never were completely at bay, grew worse as a result.

Of course I knew he hadn't thought through his offer – he was a complete idiot when it came to anything practical anyway – but I believe in keeping your word, so I held him to his bargain to the extent it would not result in disaster.

As a result it was his responsibility to take out the trash, one of the few things he could do without catastrophic results. I watched him go out the door as he obligingly headed toward the containers, bags in tow. All I could see was his back and cute little butt. His butt swayed back and forth a little bit as he walked down the steps. I thought about how the curve of his ass felt when he sat on my lap and I cupped my hands around it to hold him in place so he wouldn't fall off while I kissed him. I was happy that his cute little behind was mine.

Stupid, he's just a fling -- an experiment, I told myself; don't get attached. Maybe I should aim the fire extinguisher I bought after his last experiment with cooking at myself. Or maybe I should fan myself until I cool down.

Yet even though the sex was great and I was fond of the little bugger no matter how much I rode him, it couldn't last. Didn't last. We were headed for a crash and I bailed out before the vehicle hit the wall. I just hoped he'd bail out too.

I could have used his failure to live up to his bargain as the reason. Maybe it would have been kinder. Instead I lied and told him I never liked him, that I wanted him out, and that it could never work out between us because he was a guy. I thought using a scalpel was kinder than trying to let him down easy. Excise the wound before it festers.

The gods must have smiled at my stupidity because Shuichi went from my tossing him out to an attack at the hands of his rival Taki Aizawa. I couldn't believe anyone could be so jealous of Shuichi as to pay two thugs to rape him. In my case, the thugs paid the one who arranged it.

Both of us were pimped out, me by someone I trusted and thought I loved, and him by a sworn enemy who appeared in the guise of a savior. Does that mean I understand him any better? I don't even understand myself, so probably not.

I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. I can't reject him again but I must. I gave in to his need and slept with him again last night, murmuring words of reassurance, letting him know that I desired him just as much as ever, erasing with my caresses whatever he was subjected to. Then I put my belongings in storage and abandoned my dream house, drove to Kyoto and arrived at my fiancée's house to formally ask for her hand in marriage.

For his sake and mine, I must abandon any dream of having a relationship with him. I should never have started this in the first place. The press hints that others are putting two and two together and the answer to that equation will lead them straight to my doorstep.

How will his career survive? How will mine? We rely on the good will of millions of drooling fan girls and lonely housewives. Will they want to listen to his records or read my books if they think we're gay?

Dream and reality have collided and reality has won out. Reality wins every time. I should have learned that lesson for good on a hot summer's night in New York. Nothing good ever comes of fighting destiny.

/FIN/

Thanks go to my long-suffering beta HawkClowd without whom this story would inevitably have several unnecessary commas.


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